


Fleeting Moments

by MatildaSwan



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Course Language, F/M, French Toast, Gen, Kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her face never forgot to smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleeting Moments

Nicola woke up alone, as usual: her side of the bed warm and slept in, James’ tossed and cold. That’s how they were now, separate and out of sync. Early morning meetings and late nights at the office, but always one or the other: never on the same timetable.

She stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, mulling her plans for the day through her mind until her stomach demanded attention. She heaved herself out of bed with a sigh, threw on a dressing gown and plodded downstairs.

She smelt frying before she heard the crackle of a pan, and double-took when she saw James standing by the bench, whisking eggs and cinnamon into a brown sludge.

“Morning,” Nicola walked over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of juice as James dropped a piece of sodden bread into the melted butter. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“The eight o’clock was cancelled at the last minute, but I was already out of bed. Thought I’d make breakfast,” waving the spatula at a plate of French toast.

“Oh, brilliant! I’m famished,” grabbing a piece and taking a bite. She moaned, “Damn, that’s good!”

“Oh, well, I try. Just haven’t had a chance much with work lately,” he glanced up at Nicola, apology in his eyes. She stepped forward, kissed the corner of his mouth: gentle and lingering.

“Good morning, to you too,” smirk biting at the crease of his stubble as he flipped the skillet.

He snaked at arm out to wrap around Nicola’s hip. She draped her arms around his neck, capturing his top lip between hers: plaint and tender. James pulled her closer, tongue sliding past her teeth: orange and sweet and she scraped along the nape of his neck. He brushed her robe aside, fingers trailing along the hem of her singlet. She hummed, falling back against the bench and breaking away.

James breathed against her neck and paused; sniffed twice and panicked.

“Bollocks!” he shouted, rushing over to the now burning piece of toast on the stovetop, throwing the pan in the sink. Nicola watches, disappointed and amused: walked over and trailed a hand down his spine, smiling against his cheek as he washed the charred remains away.

“It’s fine dear, it’s not like there isn’t enough to go around,” itching her lips on his stubble. “The kids won’t be up for another half an hour, and I haven’t showered yet,” thumb sliding under the band of his pyjama bottoms. She felt him grin into her curls.

James dropped the pan on the washboard and turned, grabbing Nicola by the waist and hoisting her up around his hips. She shrieked, hair falling over her face as she beamed, leaning down to kiss him as he carried her towards the bathroom.

*

Nicola moaned, lamenting the headache sulking at the back of her skull. She’d been here a day and she was already buried neck-deep in cock-up. And it didn’t look like it was shifting any time soon. The press were having a field day with her, not that she could do much about that: the damage had already been done there. She assumed it would die down, though she doubted anyone was really going to give that damn photo a push towards its deathbed, given it was Malcolm’s idea in the first place.

The thought of the Spin Doctor made her head throb, and she ferreted around her draw for some neurofen. Drawing a blank, she stood up to try her luck in the spare cupboard and caught Ollie in the process of, what Nicola _thought_ , was an attempt to fix his hair in Glenn’s glasses. Ollie was flailing as Glenn shook with laughter and Terri stood off to the side, sneering at the two of them.

Nicola huffed, she wasn’t completely daft and she knew mockery when she saw it. She waited a few minutes, rummaging through the office, until success! she found some panadol in one of the draws. She washed it down and went to make some tea. She called out to Ollie as she walked back into her office.

“Ollie, could you come here a minute?”

She turned without registering his response, put her tea on the desk and lent against the edge. She folded her arms, put on her best ‘stern mother’ face, and waited for Ollie to appear. For someone with such lanky legs, he really did take a long time to get anywhere. Half his body entered the room.

“What’s up?” The rest followed, hands in pockets and swaying like a five year old. Nicola stared him down.

“I hear you’ve been doing impression of me around the office?”

Panicked flashed across Ollie’s face. “I, ah…that’s, ah,” he stammered, desperately grasping for any, even vaguely straw-shaped idea swirling around his head. He came up blank.

“It ends, now. I’ll not have my advisers undermine me, or they’ll find themselves _not_ my advisers, very quickly.”

Ollie stared for a few moments, trying to gauge if she was bluffing or not: eventually he nodded and glared at the floor.

“Yes, Minister.”

“Good,” curt nod. “Out of my office, please.”

She turned her back and managed to, somewhat gracefully, lower herself into her chair, pick up her tea, and pretend to start reading a brief. Nicola peered over the rim of her cup as Ollie scramble out of the room, pulling the door behind him. She sank back, relishing her self-satisfied smirk as she sipped at her tea.

At least that was one thing she’d managed not to fuck up today.

*

Nicola was still in her workout clothes, sweat dried sticky: her hair piled on her head and tangled in knots. Her skin shone, though her body ached; muscles tired and satisfied after her trip to the gym. She was rather enjoying this while mid-life crisis yoga thing.  

She stumbled as she tried to pull her key out of the door single-handed, bag in the other and a rolled up mat tucked up underneath her arm. She caught herself, kicked the wood open and slammed it behind her; dropping her keys in the fishbowl on the counter and avoiding her reflection in the hallway mirror.

She dumped her things on the kitchen table, ducking her head into the living room on impulse, for all she knew it would be empty: James on a weekend retreat, the children scattered about the city at friend’s houses, and no chance of work calling to hound her this weekend. She didn’t bother hiding the tiny smirk cutting at her cheeks as she revelled in the silence of the house; started flicking through a list of things to do with her afternoon.

Book, film, and cake were all high contenders: she’d spent the afternoon working off calories, she was allowed to put them back on again. She walked up the stairs, thighs shaking slightly as she flexed against the carpet. She caught a whiff of BO as she hauled herself up the baluster and made a face.

On second thought, first thing on her list was a bath.

*

Nicola often questioned the affects her time in Whitehall seemed to have had on her psyche, whenever she got like this; stifling giggles with her fist as they bubbled up her throat, watching Malcolm verbally assault yet another unfortunate soul. She appeared to have developed a radar for every catastrophe that happened in the building: somehow she always managed to be in the right place, at just the right time to watch Malcolm’s dish out his most thorough bollockings.

Perhaps it was relief, that it wasn’t her turn to fall on her sword, or be stabbed in the gut; that someone else was as inept, if not more so, than herself. Perhaps cabinet had sucked her moral conscious out as well, when it took her soul. Perhaps it was the touch; just a touch, mind! of awe she felt seeing Malcolm in his element, and the flare of heat through her body that went with it.

Or maybe she had just turned into a vindictive bitch when she wasn’t paying attention: she honestly didn’t care anymore because really, in her line of work; you took the laughter when and where you found it, and you enjoyed it as best you could.

Nicola hid her beaming face behind the water cooler, attempt at subtlety as she watched Ben Swain blink furiously as Malcolm ripped him open. The water rippled inside the plastic; distorting and magnifying her features in the corner of Malcolm’s sight. He paused mid rant: eye before the storm, letting Ben steep in his own juices for a moment. Malcolm glanced her way and winked: she felt her insides clench, but her smile widened.


End file.
